


We Fight Ourselves

by MegLee06



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegLee06/pseuds/MegLee06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Every second, minute, every damn hour.<br/>Don’t wanna play.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Fight Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! 
> 
> This was inspired by "We Fight Ourselves" by Epik High, and the idea just seemed to fit Krisho in my head. This is my first time posting Krisho, and my first solo fic on this site, though I am not a first-time writer. 
> 
> I played around a little with formatting. Hope you all enjoy ^^

 A big thank you to [Nathalaia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nathalaia/pseuds/Nathalaia) for beta-ing this thing. You are a blessing, friend ^^ 

 

* * *

 

 

Joonmyun was tired.

He was tired of being stuck on the same page in his latest novel, unable to get the words to read the way he wanted them to and having that damn cursor blink at him, taunting him. He was tired of going to his part time job at the coffee shop, where they constantly shafted him with an unreasonable number of opening shifts after the late night closing ones, and where the hostile customers seemed to be increasing in numbers every day, paralleling the increasingly colder weather. He was tired of being exhausted, of feeling the ache in his bones and never feeling rested even when he did sleep, a rarity in itself.

But more than anything, he was tired of listening to Yifan argue with his parents over the phone.

This was the third time this week, he realized as he sat in the kitchen, staring at his computer screen without really seeing it. He was supposed to be writing an important dialogue between the characters of his story, one that would bring their problems to light and allow them to finally start mending the issues between them. But all he had was a bunch of jumbled words and half-assed sentences, his mind hitting a wall.

Even if the writer’s block released him from its grasp, though, he knew he wouldn’t be able to write at the moment, his ears too focused on the harsh murmurs from the other room that Yifan thought he could hide in their small apartment. He didn’t know why Yifan bothered to answer at all, knowing the conversation would slip from “ _how are you?_ ” to “ _you are a disappointment to this family_ ” in less than ten minutes. Like clockwork, Joonmyun had listened to Yifan’s words become sharper, angrier in tone.

“ _No, I haven’t heard back about the promotion_.”

“ _I told you, Joon is working on that new book. Yes, I know, but I’m not going to come to dinner without him. Because he is my family, too, that’s why_.”

“ _Of course I’d love to be a father, but I’m not… If Joon and I ever get to the point of adoption, then we will do it, but this is_ our _future, not yours._ We _make those decisions_.”

“ _Why do you do this? Why can’t you just accept me and my life? I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not just so you are satisfied_.”

The emotion grew and grew until Joonmyun could taste them on the back of his tongue, coating his taste buds in a bitterness that made it hard to swallow. He twirled his wedding ring absentmindedly, watching the dim light of the kitchen curve around the soft metal edge like an embrace.

The screen remained blank, cursor blinking. Waiting.

 

 

 

Yifan was tired.

He was tired of working a nine to five job in an anonymous cubicle, constantly reminded that he was merely a cog in the business machine. He was tired of listening to his good-for-nothing boss bitch about tax cuts, about the multiple reasons as to why his promotion was being “postponed”, when, really, he knew the old bastard was just dragging his feet, hoping Yifan would forget about a promotion all together. He was tired of going to bed with a migraine and waking up feeling like death.

But more than anything, he was tired of his parents not hearing him.

He tried his best not to throw his phone against the far wall of the guest room, knowing the satisfying crunch of the device hitting the wall would only be a temporary joy. Instead, he listened to the ramblings of his mother with one eye on the door in case Joonmyun made an appearance. He wouldn’t, but the idea of Joonmyun overhearing the shit he was dealing with made him wary. He could feel the frown deepening in his skin, keeping his voice as low, but as firm, as possible.

It wasn’t like his life was a spur of the moment kind of existence. While Yifan could be impulsive at times, when it came to matters of his emotions and beliefs, he had always been careful in making declarations. He was not one to be hasty, not one to make a rash decision, at least not with relationships. He had known his preference for men since early in his adolescent years, and had come out to his parents as he entered high school. He had been friends-slash-acquaintances with Joonmyun for nearly a year before asking him out properly, and it had taken him three years, six months, and five days to propose, and another year to marry. He didn’t make moves that involved the heart unless he was certain they were the ones he wanted to make.

His mother and father did not get that, for some inconceivable reason.

To them, this was all still some type of phase, as if Yifan would one day wake up with an epiphany, see the error of his ways and go back to what his parents expected of him. A, quote, “ _normal marriage_ ” to some pretty girl with soft curves and a softer voice, who would provide him with as many children as _they_ saw fit – because when had his opinion ever mattered when it came to his own life? – and live in some suburb known for good schools and better yards. What they didn’t see was Yifan’s love for Joonmyun. True, the smaller man would never bear his children, and he certainly would never be mistaken for a woman, but his smile was bright and his heart was pure gold, and Yifan loved him without fail. He didn’t want a woman when he could have Joonmyun.

But every time his parents called, his life was brought into question. Why was he stuck in this mediocre job? Why didn’t he visit more? _Why didn’t he want to have children?_

He had been _this_ close to telling them he hated kids – an obviously lie – if only to hear the gasp of disbelief on the other line. At least that would shut them up for a little bit. But instead he tried to do damage control, explaining himself even when he knew they didn’t hear it, _refused_ to listen. It didn’t help that he could never get far enough away from Joon when these conversations arose.

His husband had not breathed a word about it, but he knew better than to assume Joonmyun didn’t know exactly what was going on.

Especially when their fighting had gotten increasingly worse with every call.

 

 

 

Yifan had remained in the guest room even after hanging up, the sudden silence in the apartment far too noticeable to be missed. Joonmyun was thankful for the time as he used it to prepare himself, running a hand through the unruly brown hair that stubbornly fell into his eyes.

This was always when it started. This was when everything went to Hell.

Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe Yifan would wander back into the kitchen and they would eat dinner together like a normal couple without heated words and seething glares. Some days they didn’t fight, but _some days_ were quickly becoming rare occurrences. With the increased calls from home, their arguments had gotten to be routine.

Joonmyun didn’t understand why it was this way. He didn’t understand what happened to the air between them after those phone conversations, but it acted like a carnival mirror, distorting the truth into something ugly and obscene. The tone of his voice was somehow twisting in the space between his lips and Yifan’s ear until it lost its original meaning and became something vicious, his expression of concern turning into something condescending to the other man.

Maybe the stress of their lives had finally started to weigh a little too heavily on them, cracking their composure and letting irritation set in. Maybe the weather was affecting them both, their irritation growing with the cold. Or maybe they were just getting sick of each other.

He hated it. He hated how he could almost schedule their fights, could almost predict the exact moment it would happen. But what he hated most was the way the fighting had begun to corrode their relationship. He could count on one hand the amount of “ _I love you_ ”s they had said to one another in the past week. He had become accustomed to waking up in their bed with cold sheets, Yifan’s habit of kissing him goodbye before heading off to work broken for the past month-and-a-half.

They had hardly touched one another for weeks.

That hurt almost as much as the arguments. The feeling of not being wanted by his husband, _his lover_ , was irrational, he knew. Yifan had never indicated he had lost interest in him in that way. They were both just tired and stressed and far too distracted to do much more than sleep when they fell into their bed at night. But Joonmyun was a physical being, craved affectionate touches and lingering embraces, and the lack of those moments left crippling doubt to grow in the gaps between. But he never mentioned it, afraid that it would show Yifan just how insecure he was about all of this.

He wasn’t like Yifan, who had the confidence to make a decision and stick by it without wavering, a quality he both admired and envied. He couldn’t be as sure of himself as well as his husband could, so he remained silent. Not that it worked for long.

He ran his hand through his hair again, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Perhaps he should get a haircut soon. It had gotten pretty unmanageable as of late.

 

 

 

He didn’t know why he was lingering in the guest room, staring at the door like it would swallow him whole. He was being absolutely ridiculous. It was just Joonmyun on the other side, quite possibly the only person who could help him deal with all of this shit. He should be practically running to the other man, opening his heart and exposing it on the kitchen table for discussion. He’d probably feel better, he reckoned. Maybe venting would relieve some stress, like all of those talk show hosts claimed.

But he could already feel the storm hanging in the air around him. The tension threatened to choke him, clogging his throat with indecision.

He didn’t like the idea of being a burden and dumping all of this trouble on his husband. He was more the type to hold it in, bear it with a smile until he could fix it on his own. And with how their fights had picked up, he certainly didn’t want to stir the pot by telling him the finer details of what his parents said, of what they apparently thought of their marriage. Silence was his best option if it meant sparing Joonmyun of more pain.

Yifan knew going in there was inevitable. Their fights were routine, now, penciled in just before dinner.

With the increase in tension came the increase in the space between them. Yifan wanted to say he was just trying to respect Joonmyun’s personal space, but it was more selfish than that. He was avoiding him, trying to make sure Joonmyun didn’t know just how weak and needy he really was. Because Yifan was, especially after constantly hearing his parents belittle his decisions. He craved an outlet, wanted for his husband, but didn’t dare get too close, for fear that the other man would begin to see his flaws as well. So he stayed clear for as long as he could.

Not the best plan, he realized, especially considering the majority of their conversations now were heated. But it was the only defense he had against the arguments. If he didn’t crowd Joonmyun, they didn’t fight, and he preferred it when they were civil. It was as simple as that. And yes, that may be the coward’s way out, but he wasn’t good with words.

He wasn’t like Joonmyun, who could articulate his emotions with the right phrases at the right times, a quality he both admired and envied. He couldn’t word himself as well as his husband could, so he remained silent. Not that it worked for long.

Eventually, something would be said. And it wouldn’t take long for things to spiral out of control. It was like every little thing was a trigger, and Yifan fired way too easily.

He sighed, pushing himself up off of the bed he had claimed as his seat during his phone call. The dress shirt he wore pulled taut across his shoulders as he did, and he was struck by the restrictiveness of the movement.

Maybe they wouldn’t fight tonight. Maybe they could break the pattern.

 

 

 

When Yifan stepped into the kitchen, Joonmyun’s heart ached. The sight of the other man’s haggard appearance, dark circles under his eyes and a tired sag in his shoulders, had his body screaming for him to reach out to him, to comfort him as best he could. That was his job, wasn’t it? Comfort his husband in times of need?

But the way Yifan skirted around the edge of the room, keeping distance between them, felt like enough rejection without him having to verify it.

Yifan, it seemed, didn’t need his comfort. Or, more accurately, didn’t _want_ it.

Joonmyun returned his gaze to the computer screen, sighing quietly to himself. Yifan took it as a cue to speak up for the first time that night.

“How is the book coming?”

Of course that was his question. What else was there to talk about really, other than work? It was the safest route, usually, though everything felt like a landmine as of late, their conversations playing with explosives until someone set one off.

He didn’t really want to discuss his lack of progress, but he humored Yifan anyway, giving a small shrug.

“Stuck. Can’t get a dialogue to flow properly.”

Yifan hummed in acknowledgement as he dug through the fridge. He pulled out a handful of items, and Joonmyun watched him set them out on the counter one by one, trying to guess what he was planning for their dinner.

“Is it an important conversation for the story?” he continued as Joonmyun came to the conclusion that tonight’s meal was Lo Mein.

“Very,” Joonmyun replied.

“It’ll come to you eventually,” Yifan said after a moment. “It always does.”

Joonmyun always hated that response. It wasn’t a solution, but an empty phrase of encouragement. _It will work itself out_. From experience, he knew that was not always the case. Sometimes he had to work for the solution, not expect it to just appear.

“How was the office?” he asked before he could think better of it, and he watched as Yifan hesitated.

 

 

 

“It’s the same as always,” Yifan responded, swallowing when he felt the dryness hit the back of his throat. He busied himself with pulling out the pans he would need for dinner. “Nothing really special.”

“And…” Joonmyun paused, his voice growing soft with caution, and Yifan could practically feel the next words before they were said. “I guess Mr. Kim is still holding back on the promotion?”

Of course that was his question. It was everyone’s fucking question. But he only shrugged.

“It’s not like I’m not still in the running. He’s just not making any moves right now.”

“And you’ve asked him about it?”

Before Yifan could even stop himself, he scoffed, the sound ripping through the stillness of the kitchen.

He turned with a frustrated scowl, watching as Joonmyun shrunk in a little on himself. He tried to keep his voice even, but he knew it was far too harsh.

“Of course I’ve asked him. I’ve asked him every fucking Monday this past month.”

“I didn’t know,” Joonmyun defended weakly, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you are getting upset over me asking.”

“Because it makes me feel like you don’t think I’m doing every possible thing I can,” Yifan shot back. “Like I wouldn’t _think_ of asking him. Like I’m some idiot who just twiddles his thumbs and lets shit pass by without putting in any effort.”

“You know I didn’t mean that,” Joonmyun stated softly.

_No. But his parents did._

 

 

 

“Well, stop asking me about it,” Yifan grumbled. “I don’t need that shit from you, too.”

Joonmyun felt his chest tighten with anger and sadness. There it was. The accusations. It was always what _Joonmyun_ had done to Yifan, what _Joonmyun_ had said. It was Yifan’s way of dealing with his anger, shrugging off the blame and finding a scapegoat, and Joonmyun was the easiest target.

He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve that frustration aimed at him, and he could feel his own awakening at the bitterness in Yifan’s voice. He wasn’t looking for a fight, but he didn’t want to feel like all of this was his fault, either.

“What am I supposed to ask you about, then?” he questioned sharply, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “The weather? Sports?”

“Joon,” Yifan started, but Joonmyun wasn’t finished, and he was tired of being ignored.

“No, Yifan, this is ridiculous. I ask because I care about what is going on in your life, and you act like it’s such an _inconvenience_ every time I open my mouth.”

He sighed through his nose, shaking his head. “Do you even want me to talk to you?”

“Of course I do,” Yifan responded immediately.

“Then what do you want me to say?” Joonmyun fired back. “Because apparently my conversation topics are lacking. So, enlighten me. _What do you want me to say?_ ”

 

 

 

“I don’t know,” Yifan muttered in frustration, scratching at the back of his neck as he tried to gather his thoughts. “Anything but that damn promotion.”

Joonmyun took a breath, and Yifan should have known then what was going to come out of his mouth. He should have seen it in his expression, in the way he fiddled with his wedding ring - Joonmyun always _fiddled_ with things when he was nervous - or in the set of his jaw. But when he asked, the words hit him in the gut like a sucker punch.

“Alright, then. What about your parents?”

Yifan’s hands fisted by his side, so hard that his knuckled blanched white with the force.

“No.”

“Yifan, you know we should,” Joonmyun insisted, but Yifan was already turning back to dinner, closing himself off like he was prone to do. Like the coward he knew he was. But Joonmyun pressed on.

“I know it’s tough on them that I… That we can’t have biological children,” he started, but Yifan didn’t let him get far.

“Joon, _stop_. I don’t want to talk about them.”

“Well, I do.”

“ _Why_?” Yifan snapped. “Why do you want to even think about it? Why is this so important to you?”

“Why is it not important to you?” Joonmyun shot back. “Yifan, this is our life they are questioning.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”  


 

 

“It has _everything_ to do with me,” he spat. “They may be your parents, but I am the one who can’t give you children. _I_ am the one they see as the problem. And you of all people should be able to talk to me about _our_ marriage, about our options for children if and when we want them. The last time I checked, I was a part of this relationship too. Or have you forgotten, having spent so much time _avoiding_ me –”

“I’m not avoiding you.”

Joonmyun slammed a hand on the table, rattling the laptop as he stood from his chair and outright glared at Yifan. “That is a fucking _lie_ , and you know it.”

Yifan seemed startled by the outburst, and Joonmyun took the opportunity to go on.

“You think I haven’t _noticed_? You don’t talk to me, you don’t look at me. You haven’t _touched_ me in God knows how long.”

He sneered, gesturing to the distance between them with a frantic hand. “You can’t even be in the same room with me without staying on the other end, like even breathing the same air as me disgusts you.

“Do you know how hard that is for me? How much it feels like rejection? Like you… Like you don’t even want me around?”

Joonmyun shook his head as he said it, because he couldn’t believe the words that were now coming out into the open after weeks of petty arguments and silence, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t pause for even a second, far too engrossed in his emotions to pull back on his own accusations now.

“Maybe you’ve avoided me for so long that your parents’ opinion has replaced your own. Maybe it would be best for us to take a break and see what it is you really want.”

 

 

 

This is where Yifan knew he should say something. He should immediately deny the words Joonmyun just said. He should speak up and reassure his husband. Tell Joonmyun that he loved him more than anything. That he had been avoiding him to protect him from more pain. That he knew what he wanted, and he wanted Joonmyun.

But he had never been good at articulating himself.

Instead of speaking up, he stayed silent, unable to string words together in a coherent fashion. He sputtered, opened his mouth only to close it once more without a word. His mind couldn’t keep up with what he was supposed to do, too overwhelmed and stressed and _shocked_ at what Joonmyun had said, because he hadn’t known what his protective mechanisms had been doing to Joonmyun’s thoughts.

He could see Joonmyun waiting, and his heart swelled painfully in his chest, because _why the fuck couldn’t he speak_?

He watched as his husband’s lips parted, only for them to press together tighter than before. Joonmyun looked away, his expression flickering between anger and sadness and something that made Yifan’s throat clench.

Without looking at Yifan again, Joonmyun nodded, closing his laptop quietly and tucking it under his arm. He started towards the bedroom, and that movement was what brought Yifan’s breath back in a rush of oxygen.

“Joon, wait.”  


 

 

Joonmyun didn’t wait. He didn’t want to look at Yifan, didn’t want to talk anymore, because the dread gnawing in his gut had gotten worse.

Yifan hadn’t said anything. Not one fucking thing.

Until he moved that is. And by then Joonmyun had his mind made up, already making a list of essentials that he would need. A toothbrush, some clothes, his computer. Baekhyun didn’t live far from here. He would give him a call after he packed.

Even as he walked towards the bedroom, all he could see was Yifan’s face. How he had opened his mouth as if to speak, before closing it again. How his brows had pinched together in a conflicted manner. How he hesitated, as if trying to figure it all out himself, as if Joonmyun had just thrown him a complicated riddle instead of asking if he wanted him around.

_God, he hadn’t said anything._

He thought it was ironic that it was him running away this time. But then again, he wasn’t running. He was being pushed. And that was an entirely different situation.

It wasn’t until a large hand curled around his upper arm that he rounded on Yifan, yanking his arm out of the man’s grasp and shaking his head fiercely. “Don’t fucking touch me.”  

“Joonmyun, wait,” Yifan begged, panic clear in his eyes, mixing so easily with the pain. “Let me explain.”

“No, Yifan. I’m done waiting for you to explain yourself,” Joonmyun bit out, turning to leave again.  

  


 

“Joon,” Yifan whined, reaching out to grab him once more.

He could feel Joonmyun tense underneath his hand, but his urgency kept his grip firm. It also kept him oblivious to the look in Joonmyun’s eyes.

 

 

 

And that was it. After weeks of zero contact, _this_ touch, one of desperation, burned his skin. _This_ touch was not welcome.

“ _No,_ ” Joonmyun hissed, turning and pushing the other man violently. The force sent Yifan tumbling back, landing on his butt in the middle of the hall and staring up at him in shock, but Joonmyun didn’t let that stop him from crossing the remaining distance and letting the bedroom door close behind him, the click of the lock much more final that it should have been.

 

  


Yifan watched in horror as the door swung closed. Joonmyun had pushed him. Hard. And though the fall was a shock, it was the action itself that had him gaping at the spot where his husband had stood moments before.

He had pushed him.

To get away.

He quickly regained his composure and pulled himself to his feet to crowd the door. Trying the doorknob informed him what he already knew, that Joonmyun had just locked him out. But it felt a lot more significant than being locked out of the bedroom. It felt more like he was being locked out of his life. And damn it, he couldn’t – Yifan didn’t want that. He didn’t want any of this.

He brought his fist down sharply against the wood, the force rattling the frame.

“Joon, let me in.”

There was no answer, and his chest grew tight at the sound of drawers being slammed and the distinct sound of a zipper as it was tugged open. He was really packing, Yifan realized in a panic, and he knocked harder. Louder. Until his fists ached and his breathing was rapid.

“Joonmyun, please. Just let me in.”

Still no response, and Yifan pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to stay calm. He was shaking, and his head spun with his fear, but how could it not when he knew Joonmyun was going to leave?

_God, he was going to leave._

“Joonmyun,” he whined through the door, his voice reaching a frantic pitch. “Alright. We can talk. We can talk about anything you want. The promotion, my parents, our future, anything. Just open the door.”

 

 

 

Joonmyun did his best to block out Yifan’s voice, trying to focus on what he had in his hands.

A change of clothes. His laptop and charger. His phone. All packed in a duffle bag. He’d need his toiletries, andthen he’d be done.

His thumb instinctively twirled his wedding ring around his finger, before he forced himself to stop.

He really didn’t have much left to do, but every movement grew harder when Yifan was pleading out in the hall. The door shook with every fall of the man’s fist, his words growing as forceful as his blows, and Joonmyun flinched at every bang. He had never heard his husband’s voice sound quite like this, on the edge of falling into hysteria, but he tried to ignore it.

He needed to leave. But now, locking himself in the bedroom seemed like a foolish move to do. The only way out was the door Yifan blocked. He’d have to open it eventually if he wished to leave. But he wasn’t ready to face Yifan.

He’d have to wait it out.

When he had packed all he would need, he left the duffle bag on the ground by the bed and approached the door.

Even if he was still angry, he wanted Yifan to be alright. He wanted the man to calm down before he hurt himself, before he broke. He longed to comfort him, but knew he couldn’t. Knew Yifan was panicking because of Joonmyun’s decision. But Joonmyun was too stubborn to give in.

Still, this was Yifan. He placed a hand on the smooth paneling, letting his fingers dig a little bit into the grain of the wood, only for his hand to be jolted when Yifan banged once more.  


 

 

Yifan couldn’t breathe.

He leaned against the door as he brought his fist down again. Then again. Then one more time. But the door didn’t budge. He tried the doorknob again, aware that it would do no good but still hoping it would open underneath his persistence. Hoping it would allow him to enter and fix this mess he had created.

 

 

 

Joonmyun withdrew his hand when the doorknob twisted, straining against the lock. He watched it, listening to Yifan’s pleas on the other end and closing his eyes when tears began to form.

He didn’t open the door. Instead, he slid down to the floor, pressing his back against the door and letting his head fall into his hands. His back rocked forward with every knock.

 

 

 

He wasn’t going to let him in. Joonmyun really wasn’t going to let him in.

In an act of sorrow and frustration, Yifan pushed from the door, gripping his hair between his fingers. Without even considering the consequences, he swung, his fist connecting with the wall.

  


 

Joonmyun flinched at the sound of the wall crunching underneath Yifan’s strength, drawing his knees closer to his chest as the tears escaped him.

He had to wait it out.

  


 

He felt his knuckles split as his fist was pushed through the drywall of the hallway, the sound loud in the small space, and it would have been satisfying if it didn’t feel like his heart was being pulled through his ribs. He clenched his jaw, _hard_ , but it wasn’t enough to keep the sob from slipping out. He was bleeding, and his hand was aching as it fell to his side, but that wasn’t important at the moment.

Not when he was losing Joonmyun.

Or had he already lost him?

He was more than Yifan ever deserved, and yet he had stayed for so long, as patient as a saint. But even saints had their limits, and it seemed Joonmyun had reached his. And it was all Yifan’s fault.

His fists became sluggish as he turned his attention to the door once more, an open palm sliding down the door as he sucked in ragged breaths that choked him. But even with his tears, and the way each breath was riddled with a sob that seized his lungs and refused to let up, he spoke. As if trying to make up for the silence he had forced Joonmyun to endure. As if he still had time to fix this.

“I’m sorry,” he wailed, crumbling at the foot of the door as he gasped and coughed. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t need my parents to approve of me, or a promotion, or children. All I need is you.”  


 

 

Joonmyun bit down on his lip until his teeth sliced through the sensitive skin, refusing to let his sobs slip through his resolve. He was bleeding, the metallic taste heavy on his tongue, but that wasn’t important at the moment.

He hadn’t expected Yifan to speak again. But he was, loud and pained and saying everything Joonmyun had needed to hear in the kitchen. Part of him was adamant that it was too late, that Yifan only said it now to appease him.

_But_ _what if_?

This was Yifan. The same man who has sputtered out a confession in a dim room, unable to even look at Joonmyun as he said his feelings in hasty, half-put-together phrases because he couldn’t get it all out in a coherent way. The same man who had grown flustered reading his vows, his hands shaking the paper so much that he had to start over once, but he had refused to go up there without at least writing it down first, knowing he would lose his train of thought. “ _I suck at finding the right words_ ” he had said, and Joonmyun believed him. As a rule, his husband had just always been quiet.

But what if the quiet was too much? What if he couldn’t take it anymore?

Joonmyun didn’t know what to do. It felt like he was dying, the room’s air sucked out and leaving him shaking and gasping as he forced himself to stay still. But even as he tried to keep control, Yifan’s words cut through the wood between them, agonizing in their desperation.

 

 

 

Joonmyun was all he ever needed. He needed his comfort and love and acceptance, every day for the rest of his life. He needed gentle hands on his waist as he cooked, the ones that told him he was there and wanted to be close, wanted that contact. He needed soft kisses in the morning, so different from the passionate ones that were exchanged in between searching hands and rolling hips, but ones that he craved all the same. And he needed his words of reassurance. Words he should have sought out when his parents began their complaints or when his boss fell through with promised pay raises. Instead, he had hidden himself away, and left Joonmyun to suffer.

“I want you to stay,” he croaked. “I want you to stay.”

He felt like he might vomit, but he continued anyway. “I didn’t say it, and I’m sorry. But I want you to stay. Please, Joon, stay.”

He couldn’t look up, his hands trembling as they covered his face. His knees were aching from crouching on the hardwood floor, but he couldn’t move. If he did, the world around him would shatter.

“I’ll do anything,” he moaned, his voice high and rasping. “I love you. Don’t leave me. Stay.”

It was all his fault. All of this was his fault, and he didn’t know if there was any way to change his husband’s mind. The ring that sat on his finger caught the light and his thumb traced the lines of the metal as he closed his eyes.  

Joonmyun didn’t open the door.

 

  


Joonmyun waited until the house fell quiet, until he couldn’t hear the sobs of his husband. He had stayed where he was, pressed against the door as Yifan fell apart just outside, and he could do nothing but let his own tears fall.

Yifan moved sometime later, though Joonmyun wasn’t sure how long it had been. It could have been minutes, or years. But still, Joonmyun sat. The hardwood floor beneath him had his joints aching, but he couldn’t move. If he did, the world around him would shatter.

But eventually, the world demanded action, and he pulled himself back towards the duffle bag that awaited him. He hoisted it up onto his shoulder, where the weight would seem less burdensome. It still feltlike a million pounds.

He didn’t know what to expect when he opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, but what he found was like a nightmare. The wall next to the door was smashed, drywall littering the floor underneath the hole Yifan had undoubtedly created. And silence. The silence seeped into him like a chill, settling in his bones, and he shivered.

Yifan was nowhere to be seen.

Each step back through the house was too loud, the floors creaking as he walked. As if reminding him of what he was about to do.

And then he saw him.

Yifan had pulled himself to the kitchen, but hadn’t made it into the table. Instead, he had curled up on the floor, his head and arms resting on the seat of one of the chairs. He could see blood seeping from his knuckles, his face hidden in his arms as the rest of him shook. He looked broken. Defeated.

And it hurt. It hurt so much more than Joonmyun thought it would.

Without realizing he had moved, Joonmyun found himself next to his husband’s form, setting the bag down to the side. He briefly wondered if this made him a coward, his desire to comfort his husband. He had been ready to leave, convinced that it was for the best, but this… this wasn’t what _he_ wanted either.

He was hurting. And Yifan was hurting as well, more than just a busted hand. And no, maybe things were not alright. Things still needed to be changed, to be put back together in a way that was functional and worked for them without making every day a different battle. But while Joonmyun had felt like leaving was the strongest thing he could do, perhaps staying was stronger.

Slowly, Joonmyun lowered himself to kneel next to his husband. He reached out to run a hand down the other’s back, and Yifan flinched at the contact, glancing up with tear-blurred eyes.

 

 

 

He didn’t know how he got to the kitchen, or how long he had sat in his position against one of the chairs, but it was long enough for him to have grown numb of everything but the throbbing in his chest and in his hand. At the moment, he’d rather be numb completely.

Yifan blinked furiously as he looked up, startled by the unexpected touch to his back, but even more startled at the sight of Joonmyun so close to him. He had not heard the bedroom door open or the approaching footsteps, and suddenly faced with the man he loved and was probably about to lose was a lot more than he could handle.

He whined in the back of his throat, reaching out a hand to grip the fabric of his husband’s sleeve. As if to make sure he was really there.

“ _Joon_.”

In an instant, the other man had pulled him close, arm wrapping around his shoulders as he cradled him into his side. And Yifan couldn’t stop the sobs. He cried harder as he pushed his face into Joonmyun’s shoulder, because _he was still here_. He hadn’t left yet.

But the sight of the bag sitting ready on the floor nearby had him wailing with the possibility.

“Please, don’t leave. Don’t leave. I’m sorry.” He was babbling, the words falling over one another and meshing together with tears and harsh breaths. “I love you. I’m sorry.I’m so sorry.”

 

 

 

“Shhh,” Joonmyun whispered, rocking slightly as he rested his chin on Yifan’s shoulder, his hands running circles over the other’s back. “It’s alright. We’re alright.”

“No,” Yifan said quietly, his voice breaking. “No, this isn’t alright. I – We can’t – _God, I don’t want you to leave_.”

Yifan’s fingers were digging in a little too tightly, the skin pulled uncomfortably underneath the cotton shirt, but Joonmyun ignored it in favor of soothing his husband’s heart. His own emotions had returned, and he swallowed thickly as tears spilled from his eyes.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

  


 

Yifan heard Joonmyun’s words, but he wasn’t sure how long they would be true, so he clung. He would take what he could, whatever Joonmyun would allow him. If it was only a few more minutes, he would spend them in the other’s arms, soaking in his presence and memorizing his warmth.

He was a wreck. And part of him knew if someone had told him a few days ago that he would be sobbing into Joonmyun’s shirt as they sat on the kitchen floor, he wouldn’t have believed them. He was stronger than that. But holding onto Joonmyun, he knew he was only strong because of him. He wasn’t as immovable as Joonmyun thought he was, but that was okay. Because Joonmyun could hold him together if he had to. If Yifan allowed him to.

If he was there.

He tried to speak again, but could not say much more than tearful apologies and confessions into Joonmyun’s shirt, his mind too drawn to create anything as complicated as a full sentence with more than three words.

But Joonmyun only shushed him, pulled him closer despite the uncomfortable position and Yifan’s size. He wrapped his arms around the other’s waist, turning his head to push his nose further into the man’s neck.

  


 

When Yifan’s sobs had been quieted, and Joonmyun’s own tears had stopped, Joonmyun spoke up.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he whispered, feeling Yifan tense at the words but pressing on regardless. Their silence was the reason it had gotten this bad in the first place. He was not about to let it destroy them again.

“We can’t keep dodging the issue. We have to talk about things with each other. Otherwise, we are just going to keep fighting.”

He could feel Yifan nod against his collarbone.

 

  


“I’ll do better,” Yifan promised, his voice weak.

Joonmyun’s arms tightened around his shoulders, as if to reassure him. He had missed the weight of his embrace.

  


 

“We’ll _both_ do better,” he corrected gently. “I haven’t been communicating either.”

  


 

Yifan looked up, reaching to cup his husband’s face. The other leaned into the touch, and his heart ached at the sight. How could he have almost thrown all of this away?

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

  


 

Joonmyun didn’t want any more apologies. Instead, he wanted solutions. But contrary to what Yifan thought, he didn’t have the words either. He didn’t always know what to say to make it better. He struggled just as much. So he did the only thing that he could think of that would show Yifan that he didn’t need to worry.

He kissed him. Nothing rushed, nothing overwhelming, but something of a slow-burning warmth. Comforting, like a fireplace in winter. A drag of his lips across Yifan’s own, lingering in all the right ways. Yifan kissed back, but kept the pace slow, his hand holding Joonmyun’s face still as he tilted his head and pressed just a bit closer, pulling Joonmyun until he sat across his lap.

“I love you,” Joonmyun whispered between them, and Yifan swallowed the words with earnest, replying in kind.

Tomorrow they would talk. Tomorrow, they would sit down and discuss what Yifan’s parents thought of them, of their frustrations with their jobs, of the possibility of children in the next years. But more than anything, they would talk about each other, about what they meant to one another, about why they wanted this more than anything else, to the point where the world seemed much bleaker without the other in it.

Tomorrow, they would use all the words they could get their hands on and talk until neither of them had even a sentence left to say.

But tonight, words could wait. What needed to be said right now was much easier said with reveling glances and fingertips melting into flesh and the feeling of being surrounded by one another. And even if there were words, they wouldn’t be as powerful as the love that was felt in the actions.

No, for tonight, they only needed each other.


End file.
